


The Testimony of Zorro

by Kulkum



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Halloween, Magic, Romance, Swordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8856988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kulkum/pseuds/Kulkum
Summary: This is a piece that I wrote for TheWyvernsWeaver for his 1000 follower special. He made the first part into a comic, but cannot continue it as he wishes to focus on Sunderance. So I am posting the complete story for those who want to read it. The link below leads to the comic portion.   Testimony of Zorro Comic Enjoy!





	

**Author's Note:**

>  

_Mi Amor, Mi Vida, Mi Mundo,_

     _As the world goes mad around me, I understand that this, my final letter to you, is as much confession as it is a farewell. As such, I will be honest with you in ways that I know will anger you, even if I do not survive the night. Do not grieve for me, for I have lied to you from the moment we met. You remember, don’t you? I am certain that I still feel the imprint of your palm on my muzzle, as I am certain you must feel the ache after such a slap. Your eyes were like amethysts with hearts of indignant flame, showing me the bunny under the proper outer dress and dignified air. The most beautiful senorita in all the land – lovely beyond the boundaries of time and the realities of species – and I knew that I had to have you as my own._

     _I will always remember how lucky I am to have known you, to have loved you, and to have had you love me in return._

     _I would write you of all the love I have inside of me, and of all the happiness that our short time together has brought me, but our time on this earth would never be so long. And I have things to do, and mammals to protect; not as Don Nicolas. Not even as your husband. But as the outlaw in black, the part of me I have been forced to keep apart from you for your protection._

     _These things that roam the night are beyond anything I have ever dreamed of facing. The dead of a decade past, walking the earth again, hunting the living. Family, friends, lovers, masters, and servants. They carry their faces, but not their souls. I have seen a long dead brother fall upon and devour his sister. I have seen rabbit eat fox. Those that could not defend themselves, I saved by bringing them to our hacienda. Our walls are tall enough and strong enough to prevent these rotting reminders from passing, at least for now. Do not fear, they have not touched your roses. But even now I can hear them outside, the gurgle of death spilling from their muzzles, echoing whatever pit of Hell they crawled from.  I am not sure of how to stop them, or even if I can._

     _It is not a leap of faith to believe that the ghostly glow coming from the old church in the hills has something to do with this, and that is where I will go. I will take my great grandfather’s sword, because of the stories that I was told when it passed to me. I do not know what I can do, because I am but a mortal fox, but I must at least try. And so, I will don the mask that I have hidden from you one last time. When you return from Spain, I hope that I am here to greet you._

     _If I am not, know that I have always loved you. No matter the mask I wear._

 _Forever your husband,_  
_Nicolás Silvestre_  
 _Forever your servant,_  
Zorro

______________________________________________________

    The ghostly glow from within the crumbling old church was, unfortunately, everything that he had expected it to be from a distance. His world as Zorro was not one of bright lights and walking in the glowing sun. Stealth was his friend, as it was now when his years of training and his own natural agility allowed him to climb to the bell tower over the exposed beams of the roof. But this light made him wish for the black of a moonless night rather than the sickening feeling of _wrong_ that it exuded. A very faint greenish tint, with sparks of orange floating through now and then, conveying a feeling of sickly cold rather than safety and warmth. He fought to keep his fur from standing on end as he slipped through the small window of the tower, following the stairs down into the rectory with light steps.

    She stood in front of the black altar in the once holy place, wrapped in a dress that flowed around her rear paws even as the bodice clung to the curves of her slender body like a second skin. Crimson fabric and black lace. It sparked sharply against the white and gray fur that covered her, in a way that made his heart clench in his chest as dread filled him. The dread and the hesitation brought by the sight of black tipped ears made him misstep as he silently descended the stairs, the shuffle and scrape of his claws on the old wood clearly heard in the room otherwise filled only with the odd chanting in a voice that was all too familiar. He watched ears twitch, turn, focus in his direction. For a moment, it was the only movement as the chanting fell silent before the figure straightened her back and stepped away from the alter.

    “Well now,” came the hushed voice, a voice that carried to his ears and made his paws tighten into fists as confusion mingled with fear. “Zorro has come from his den at last. I would have thought the light would have attracted you more quickly. Or were you playing hero, trying to save those poor, helpless villagers from my pets?”

    The voice did belong to what was his; it was the voice of his wife, but at the same time it was not. It lacked the clear accent of the Spaniard, the crisp air of nobility, and the softness that reflected her kindness under it all. There was no accent that he could detect, which was odd. It made his ears twitch as he finished his descent, his paw resting on the hilt of his sword as he tried to understand what he was seeing.

    “Doña Silvestre,” he said, deepening the tone of his voice and thickening his accent as he always did to keep others from recognizing it. “I did not expect to find you here.”

    It wasn’t the first time Zorro had met the deceptively tiny bunny, and it had not surprised him that that meeting had ended with her demanding he remove his mask and face justice for his crimes. There had been no real heat behind the threat, but by right of who she was, he had not been surprised that she had asked. Lavender eyes had glared daggers at his back when he had simply flashed a grin in her direction before vanishing into the crowd. But the eyes that turned to face him now were not lavender, even if every strand of fur otherwise belonged to his wife. The glinting yellow that glowed all too clearly in the gloom seemed darkly amused. Her lashes lowered partly as she leaned back against the alter with her paws and arched her back to thrust her chest forward.

    “There is no need for the sword, is there?” she crooned in a sultry-sweet tone that set the fur on the back of his neck on end in a very pleasant way that he didn’t wish to feel at the moment. One paw reached up to smooth her ears back carefully, showing the blood-red cosmos flower that she had tucked beside one of them. Her favorite flower. The way she looked at him, the way she posed her hip to the side just far enough so that he could see the fluff of her tail twitch just a little had him remembering how much he adored that tail, and everything attached to it. And it also proved further that this was not his wife. “I was hoping that we could get to know one another. I did all of this to get your attention after all. I have so been looking forward to meeting you… in the flesh.”

    “You are not Doña Silvestre,” he stated lowly, his paw gripping the hilt of his sword so tightly that it ached. Instinct told him to draw, prepare for what was to come. But he could not draw steel against his wife, even if this was not the bunny he knew so well.

    “Oh, this?” she replied, looking down at herself. She made a point of smoothing her paws slowly down the front of her dress, causing it to pull tighter over her chest and down her hips as she shivered in delight before focusing those odd eyes on him again. “All it took was a little self-doubt, and the knowledge that you are a threat to her poor, helpless husband. Then she was begging me to come in, begging me to do what she couldn’t do. Did you know that she’s attracted to you? From the moment she saw you ride off into the sunset - such a dramatic exit - she fantasized about you sweeping her off to your den and having your wicked way with her. Very detailed fantasies, too. Such terribly naughty thoughts, for such a proper and prim bunny of the Spanish…”

    Steel cleared leather so quickly that the bunny grew silent against the sharp sound it made. Or perhaps it was the sharp point of the blade at her throat.

    “You will be careful with your words about the senorita, whatever you are,” he warned, the fact that this thing inside of her could control and manipulate and touch what was his with impunity making his temper burn. “Free her.”

    “And what will you do if I remain?” she asked, reaching up to slide her finger lightly over the sharp blade without hesitation. She didn’t even flinch when it sliced her finger, his wife’s finger. He snapped the blade away, dropped it to a ready stance at his side as he narrowed his eyes. “Will you strike down an innocent? Will you run her through the heart to stop me? That is what you’ll need to do, you realize. Though… there is something else you can do for me.”

    The sultry parting of the dainty muzzle drew his gaze, that familiar pink tongue sliding over lips that were painted a crimson many shades too dark. She stepped away from the altar, allowing him to see the seven black candles, the pentagram, and the skull of what looked like a wolf with runs carved around the empty eye sockets. Then his attention was drawn down to her when she pressed her warm, soft body against his. He allowed his gaze to fall to her, green eyes shadowed by the mask he wore as her paws spread slowly over his chest.

    “You could give yourself to me,” she said, drawling the words as she pressed her nose into the fabric covering his chest. He felt the warmth of her breath as she pulled his scent in, ‘mmm-ing’ softly as she dug her fingers in. “Not like she has, of course. I need a strong, brave male at my side to defend me, to be my arm. And in return, I can give you whatever you want. _Everything_ you want.”

    Everything he wanted was right in front of him, and he knew it. The warmth of her pressed close to him was familiar, welcomed by his body even as his mind and heart professed the fact that it wasn’t _right._ A slow shiver, either of desire or disgust, ran through him when she reached up high, every inch of her molding against his black clad body as her fingers sank into the fur of his neck. Seeing the triumph in her eyes, the curve of her lips as they parted invitingly, he surrendered to it. Reaching down with one arm, his gloved paw swept under her rear and hoisted her from the ground easily until she was on level with him. He heard her little gasp, her delighted sigh, and a little moan when he pressed his muzzle over hers and sealed their lips together in a kiss. He wondered if this… _thing_ would realize how easily he kissed that mouth, how familiar he was with the supple bottom in his paw as he squeezed it to yank her hips closer to him. He was surprised by how easy it was to sink into the kiss as he shoved her back towards the alter, dropping her on top of it without breaking the kiss. He was surprised because she smelled wrong, smelled like… a fox. A vixen.

    The scent did nothing to him, nor did the kiss. But he could pretend well enough, long enough for her to slide her paws up to the edges of his mask. It freed him fully, this distraction of hers. And while her attention was on his mask and the tongue that danced over hers, he brought the hilt of his sword down in a crushing blow onto the runic skull of the wolf.

    A stranger to the ways of magic, he did not expect the wave of force that followed the breaking of whatever dark spell she had held to control the undead. The ring of black magic erupted outward, slamming into them both and sending him flying halfway across the church to land on his tail with a grunt. Quick to recover even as his ears rang, he rolled to his feet and found that she had not suffered the same fate. She stood at the altar, glaring at the shattered remains of the skull.

    “I didn’t see _that_ coming,” he muttered to himself, sweeping back the cape that had wrapped itself around him. At the words, the creature wearing the face of his wife turned her glowing eyes towards him.

    “What have you done!” she screamed, and he saw the change in her features. Not in rage, but in very real and unbelievable ways. That beautiful face that he loved so well lengthened for a few seconds, the muzzle of a bunny elongating into some twisted mutation of fox and rabbit combined. But it went further as the canines of a predator curved and hooked, the snout became marked by pocks that made her look diseased and horrid, and her pupils narrowed into reptilian slits that were endless pits of rage. As quickly as the vision came, it was gone, and he was again faced by Judith’s beauty with the eyes of a stranger. “You foul, manipulative, worthless _dog!”_

    “Strangely enough, that isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever been called,” he said, letting a mocking grin curve his muzzle for a moment before he readied his sword in front of him, tip pointed towards her. His face sobered, his eyes hardened. “Release Doña Silvestre and face me yourself. There is nothing more to gain from holding her.”

    He very deeply hoped that were true.

    “I will never let her go,” she snarled, her paw stretching out to the side. His eyes widened when fire leapt into her palm, at first the fear that she had somehow managed to set herself on fire made him take a step towards her. Then the wicked grin that curved her lips warned him less than a second before she flung her arms at him and sent that fire bellowing towards him with a roar.

    The swordsman did the only thing he knew to do, even knowing that it would do nothing against the pillar of hungry hellfire that rushed towards him. He shrank himself, and drove his sword into the aged wood at his feet in an attempt to weather the storm as it struck. He was as clearly surprised as she was when the flame seemed to strike an invisible wall, snapping and licking jealously at the air around him. He could feel the heat, feel it trying to catch and destroy all that he was in this life in that moment. Never did it touch him, however. The sword before him hummed very faintly as he bore down, and what felt like hours surrounded by unearthly flames could only have been seconds before they vanished as quickly as they had come.

    Both of them were wide-eyed as he drew himself from his knees, drawing the rapier from the charged floor around it. The silvery blade looked no different from any other sword he had wielded, but when he cupped the blade with his off paw, he could still feel the hum of the metal. He raised it to his lips, and placed a kiss on the now warm steel.

     _Thank you, great-grandfather._

    Releasing the blade, he swept the sword through the air in front of him twice before he stood at a ready stance again. It turned out that the positioning was just in time as the small form of the bunny was rushing at him, a rapier sheathed in the same flames he had just survived thrust towards his heart. Quick reflex - as much instinct as his need to breath after over a decade of constant swordplay - allowed him to parry the thrust, stepping back as she went on the offensive. And she was not without skill; skill that he knew belonged to the beloved bunny now possessed. When she had locked swords with Zorro years before, in defense of some Don that she had deemed worth protecting, it had been all he could do to win the contest.

    It felt even more like an invasion, knowing that the memories and talents of his mate were locked behind this dark personality. Even as he felt the thrill that he always felt when engaged blade-to-blade, there was no sense of fun in it this time. No adventure. He could not best her, because he would not hurt her. He remained on the defensive, looking for an opening. She gave him dozens of them, and he could see quickly what she intended: she left herself open to lethal strikes, taunting him to end an innocent life even as she tried to find that same opening herself. Her skill made it impossible for him to see another way but the one she offered. But as hard as it was to even hold his sword against his wife, even as this thing within her screamed taunts at him, he found it impossible to land even a wounding blow.

    But he could take one himself.

    He parried as she thrust, knocking her sword aside just enough to deflect the point of the blade from his heart into his shoulder. He grunted from the burning pain as she grinned madly in triumph. A grin that faded as quickly as it had come when his gloved paw snapped closed over the center of her blade and held fast even as she tried to yank it back. The sizzle of his own flesh didn’t stop him, the agony of it driving his sword arm to rise and slap the flat of his blade against her hilt with enough force to jar it free of her paw. Stumbling back once he had control, he wrenched the tip from his shoulder and dropped what had become a normal blade at his feet as he managed to stand his ground and face her.

    “Release her!” he snarled, his eyes and voice sharp, as the pain and fear for his love drove his frustration higher. He considered his options if she refused, and there only seemed to be one.

    “You should have taken my offer,” she chirred, tipping her head to the side and letting one ear flop down over her shoulder in a ridiculously sexy way. He could still see the anger in those faintly glowing eyes, just as he could see the twisted visage that lay below the surface in his memory. “I could have given you such pleasure with this body, or any other body that you desired. But she and I have a deal, and I will not free her from it. Either you die and she goes free, or she dies with me when you strike me down.”

    “Your deal with her is based on a lie,” he said slowly, knowing that he would die first without hesitation. The very idea of ending that most precious life was beyond him, and sickened him more than the scent of his own cooked palm. But he had one other thing to offer first.

    “What lie?” she laughed, tossing her head back before shaking it to look at him. “You _are_ a threat to her husband. A threat to all the Dons in California. I did not lie to her.”

    “Not your lie,” he said, and listened to the clatter of his own sword as he dropped it to the ground. “My own.”

    Green eyes watched hers widen as the Andalusian, flat-brimmed hat dropped to the ground beside his sword. He saw greedy desire fill her, and she did nothing to stop him as he stripped off the thick leather gloves - the act of doing so causing him considerable pain before relief followed. Then, for the first time in years, he reached behind his head to untie the mask for the eyes of another. Shedding it, feeling the pressure of it slide free of his ears and muzzle, felt oddly right in front of her. There had been dozens of times he had wanted to tell her; and dozens of times the threat it might bring to her life stalled his voice. Now, there was no choice, and he let the mask fall from his eyes and slide from his fingers to hit the ground.

    If this demon held his Judith’s memories, or any knowledge of Don Nicolás, then the shock that crossed her face was perfectly understandable. Pure, unfiltered shock. The strange, burning-yellow of her eyes moved over every feature of his face with openly curious surprise, followed by a sickeningly lascivious delight. The grin that curved her muzzle was nothing short of hungry, wanton, and openly appreciative of what she was seeing even as the fox’s muzzle curved into an apologetic smile.

    “Hola, Pelusa.”

    “My, my,” she said, her voice a low purr as she stepped closer to him, her ears dropping back and her chest puffing forward as she reached out to reverently slide her silky paw down the front of his shirt. The whole new level of lust in her eyes had one part of him feeling drawn to her, and another, larger part of him wanting to recoil. “It seems that Doña Silvestre is a very, _very_ lucky bunny indeed. A handsome, well-bred fox for a husband and an outlaw in black as her secret lover. So secret that even she didn’t know it. I am fairly shivering thinking of what a predator you must have been in your marital bed.”

    Even as she spoke, he cocked his head to one side and frowned when he saw an odd sparkle at the corner of her eyes. It was a sight that he had not seen often, but recognized all the same. The clear shimmer of tears filled her eyes, and even as wrong as the burning yellow was, he surprised her again when he reached out with his uninjured paw to brush the first to fall away with the pad of his thumb.

    “I did not mean to make you cry,” he murmured, knowing very well that he wasn’t talking to whatever this thing was in front of him. The thing that wore her face recoiled from the touch, her own paw snapping up to wipe away the tears angrily. She stared down at them, frowning before she dashed the rest away and shook her head.

    “No, you gave yourself to me,” she hissed, her voice sliding from seductive to furious. “You can’t!”

    When she stumbled away from him, reaching back to catch herself with one paw on the black altar, he moved towards her quickly. Dread mingled with hope in an odd combination that caused his chest to burn when she snapped a glare at him that, for a fraction of a second, was lavender rather than sickly yellow. She raised her paw as she had before she flung hellfire at him, and a look of disbelief was quick and brilliant when nothing came. Staring down at her own paw for a moment, she suddenly released a scream that sounded nothing like the bunny he had fallen in love with, starting to writhe and twist her body at unnatural angles as if engaged in a battle that he couldn’t see nor comprehend. He rushed forward again and reached out with one paw to grip her shoulder. A shock of pain ran down the length of his arm and slammed into his chest, and - much as when he had broken the skull on the altar - he was thrown clear as she released another shriek that sounded much more pained than the first.

    He was left stunned on the ground, his paw and arm tingling from the shock. In the back of his mind he wondered if he was getting too old to run around in a mask and cape now. Maybe it was time for him to settle down, to live as Don Nicolás and see what good he could do for the mammals that way. The feeling of soft paws on his muzzle had him struggling to open his eyes, emerald green cracking open to look up into the face of his beloved. Seeing those vivid amethysts looking down at him, concern written across every delicate feature of the gray and white muzzle, he felt the tension leave him as he stayed where he was.

    “Nicolás,” she whispered, her voice softened by concern even as it was tinged with confusion. “Mi Amor, what have you done?”

    “Se llama treta, Cariño,” he mumbled as he struggled to sit up, relieved and a little terrified when he realized that she was seeing him as more than just her husband for the first time. He reached up to cup her face in one paw. To his relief, she tilted into his palm as she let out a surprised little laugh, her eyes moving over his face as if seeing him for the first time in her life.

    He gave her his best cocky grin, which happened to be a very good one as it combined with an offpaw shrug, before his gaze moved behind her. There was still danger in the room. Every instinct was firing to let him know it, and that feeling was concerned when he saw the crimson and milk white figure of the vixen pulling herself up with a paw on the corner of the altar. Everything about her was just a little wrong. Her face, while beautiful, was just a little too narrow with a muzzle that was a little too long. The claws at the tip of each finger were a little too long and curved just enough to give them the appearance of hooks. When glowing yellow eyes rose to the two of them, they were just a little too wide for her face, and the curve of her muzzle into a snarl opened wider than it should have been able to when she met his gaze. Even her fur was too red, more the color of blood than anything natural for a mortal vixen. All of it combined made her look wrong under the beauty, and he struggled to stand as she did.

    “You could have given in willingly,” she hissed, her voice trilling as she focused her gaze on him. “You will still be mine, little dog, even if I have to…”

    He tried to stop his wife. His finger pads slipped over the silky material of her dress when she suddenly jumped to her feet, dashed away from him, and swept up the silvery sword in a fluid motion that stunned even the demon. Even as he opened his mouth to shout a warning, to stop her, his beloved leapt across the room towards the vixen. The demon recovered in time to deflect the first blow with her paw, a hiss escaping her when it burned her fur and charred flesh. But even as she stepped forward to retaliate, the bunny took a spinning step backwards and thrust the blade forward in perfect form. Both foxes stared at the blade that protruded from flesh and fur, sheathed in the heart of the demon.

    “Él es mío, puta,” the bunny growled in a tone that made his blood heat and his heart quicken even as she stepped forward with the blade to drive it further forward. The demon screamed when the steel pierced through fully to protrude from her back before Judith whipped it free in a quick motion and stepped away with it still held in ready stance in front of her. Given that the blade was too large for her, he had to admire how gracefully she moved with it gripped in her paw.

    But it was the wail of the demon that had his attention now. Black blood flowed freely from the wound as she clutched her chest, eyes wide in disbelief and anger mixed as she stumbled back against the altar. She glared at the bunny one last time before flame started to spread from the wound, igniting the blood as it spilled out over her fur. The shrieking was horrible, causing his ears to drop back as he made his way over to his wife. She watched with narrowed eyes as the demon vixen burned until there was nothing left but a black stain on the ground and the quickly diminishing stink of brimstone. The haunting greenish light that had bathed the church started to fade, making him turn his gaze to the windows of the church where the first rays of dawn could be seen filtering in through the stained glass.

    Then he felt the whip of the flat end of the sword smack into his unprotected ass.

    He yelped and jumped back when she swung the sword at him again, a fire in her eyes now that he knew belonged only to his Judith. Relief came even when he dodged her next swing with a graceless leap away from her.

    “You’re Zorro!?” she cried, chasing him through the church with the rapier raised over her head as he did his best to keep himself just out of range. “Zorro tonto! I should have known! Get back here!”

    Laughing now, relieved that she was very much the bunny he loved, he spun around as she asked and caught her sword arm at the wrist when she swung again - seeing the widening of her eyes when he swept the blade away from her grasp. One paw resting at the small of her back, he ignored the pain in his shoulder as he leaned over her and dipped her back a bit, his muzzle lowered to crush his mouth to hers until she melted into the kiss. Then he gentled it, lengthened it, and finally deepened it. When at last he released it, his nose pressed into the white fur at the center of her throat when her head fell back with a sigh of surrender.

    “This may not be the best place to have this argument,” he said, his grin quick as he lifted her from the dip and set her on her feet in front of him. Her gaze was warm and affectionate now, with little sparks of passion in her eyes. And a lot of questions. So many questions. Maybe just a hint of awe, too, though he was sure she would have chased him through the church again if he remarked on it. He saw her eyes snap to his shoulder as he sheathed the blade with some effort, all expression becoming concern when she took his arm to lead him from the church.

    “I will tend that when we get home,” she said, then her words paused for a moment when she looked up at him. “You kissed her.”

    “I kissed you,” he replied, his eyes rolling up for a moment as they stepped out of the church and into the first rays of the rising sun. “And you gave yourself to that creature to protect me from me, I’ll remind you.”

    “And you have been running around in a mask for eight years without telling your wife,” she shot back, looking out over the town below. The undead were lying in the streets, unmoving now that the spell was broken.

    “Well, before she became my wife, this crazy bunny told Zorro that he should turn himself over to her custody.”

    “And so you should,” she said, a smile gracing her features as she squeezed in close to his good arm.

    “Ah, Pelusa,” he replied, his voice a contented sigh as they left the church behind them. “There are no bars on this earth that could leave me anymore in your custody than I already am."                                          

    Entangled with each other as they always were, neither one of them noticed that the blade at his side pulsed with a faint green light for a moment. And that, against the still and silent altar within the broken-down church, an unbroken rune on the shattered skull of the wolf gave a pulse and started to glow in response.


End file.
